


I can’t keep up without losing my breath

by timekept



Category: McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LMAO well fuck looks like this is never getting finished, LOOK I SAID ANGST, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicidal Thoughts, also bad writing warning lol, an anon on tumblr suggested it, enemy identifying Marks, hey nick you ruined my fic thanks, look just watch out yall, nick is sad, so watch out for that, uh there's vomiting briefly mentioned?, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timekept/pseuds/timekept
Summary: Nick is confronted with a truth he doesn't want to have to face, and would rather run from it 'til he collapses than tell anyone about it--especially Griffin.





	1. alkaline

**Author's Note:**

> look i'm a visual artist not a writer but I'm doing my best,, it's a soulmate AU w a lot of angst bc i'm a h*cking emo
> 
> also tw for like,,everything depression related?? sorry hhh,, suicidal thoughts/impulses, self harm, anxiety attacks, depression, self hate, etc,, tread carefully y'all
> 
> also for the sake of simplicity, I'm definitely fudging times/chronological shit/location

 Nick didn't mean to wake up early, not really, but he did anyway. Blinking blearily, he grabbed his phone from his nightstand. 5:34 am. He groaned, and reached to put his phone back on the small table and return to sleep, but as he moved his arm away, the new black ink on his right wrist stopped him short. His breath caught in his chest. _Oh. Right._ It was his twenty-fifth birthday, and that meant that he would join the rest of the adult world with the name of his 'soulmate' on his left wrist and the name of his 'enemy' on the right. It wasn't taken as seriously these days, in the twenty-first century. Fate wasn't treated as being so concrete, not as sacred as in the ancient times. Free choice, free will, that was what was valued, and it wasn't unusual to see people who tattooed over the names, or ignored them completely. Some people went out of their way to find their soulmates, or to reconcile with their 'enemies,' some people trusted fate to take them on whatever path they needed to be on. Nick had spent his life feeling pretty apathetic about the concept--until now.

 He felt his heartbeat pick up its pace, and his hand shook slightly as he lifted his left wrist to make out the name. Printed in black ink, neatly, in a typewriter-sort-of font, was his soulmate's name. _Griffin McElroy._ Ah. Nick hadn't been expecting that one. He flung his arm down, hiding it from himself in the crumpled sheets by his side. _Welp,_ he thought, _guess I'm never wearing short sleeves where Griffin can see me, now._ Nick felt dissociated, outside of himself, like he was watching his movements through a TV screen or a monitor. _I'll deal with this later,_ he thought to himself, his emotions numbing to keep panic at bay. _I need a distraction_. Impulsively, he lifted his right hand up into the sunlight filtering through his blinds to see the name of his so-called enemy. _Maybe one of the kids who bullied me in school,_ he mused, _or some nutjob with a vendetta against me for my stupid CoolGames Inc. ideas._ It was neither, and Nick's heart lept into his throat when he read the name on his wrist. _Nicolas Robinson._

  
 Suddenly, everything felt like too much. Nick felt overwhelmed, overstimulated like he did when a convention was too crowded, a bar too loud. The dull drone of the early morning traffic outside was suddenly cacophonous, his sheets felt like quicksand, suffocating him. He threw himself out of his bed with such vigor that he stumbled and had to catch himself, his palms slamming against the wall of his bedroom. Nick felt hunted, chased. His body was flooded with adrenaline, and he knew he was in full fight-or-flight mode, his animal instincts screaming for him to flee, not from a predator, but from the truth. _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,_ Nick thought to himself, stumbling to his bathroom and doubling over, pressing his forehead to the sink counter as he began to hyperventilate. Intrusive, ugly, dangerous thoughts swirled through his head, dizzying and cruel. A horrible sense of vertigo washed over him, and Nick vomited into his sink as he sobbed.

 When Nick looked up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, throat burning, he could hardly bear to see himself in the mirror. Sure, he had difficulty with that on the best of days--but this was something different. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, tear tracks streaked his face. His hair was a mess, unbrushed, unwashed, tangled. A familiar sense of loathing rose in Nick's throat like bile and if he hadn't already emptied the contents of his stomach into his bathroom sink, he would have thought he was going to throw up again. Instead, a strangled choking noise escaped his lips. It was ugly and jagged and unfamiliar, half a stifled sob, half manic laughter. Because of course. _(Of course, of course, of course,)_ Nick was his own worst enemy. Even the fucking universe knew it. Nick turned on the faucet, washing the bile and chyme down the drain. _Disgusting._ His own voice echoed from the back of his mind. _You're disgusting. You find out your best friend is your soulmate, and all you can think about is yourself._

 "Go away." Nick said aloud, his voice bouncing off the bathroom walls, somehow amplifying the emptiness of his apartment. Nick dragged his hands down his face, exhaustion clawing at him in the wake of his panic attack. It all felt like too much again--but this time he didn't feel overstimulated, he felt _tired_. He had to shower. He had to get dressed. Had to figure out what to do about Griffin. Had to Google what it meant to have your own name appear on your wrist. It was four things, but it felt like a four-mile-sprint. Nick braced his left palm on the counter and glared down at his right wrist, his name printed out neatly on it, clean and dark against his pale skin. It set Nick's jaw on edge. He felt mocked. By the universe, by fate, by his own skin. His fingers twitched and without really thinking, he slammed his arm, wrist down, on to the corner of his counter.  
  
 "FUCKING SHIT." Nick's breath was taken away momentarily by the pain. The corner slammed his tendon back against his ulna and jolted his carpal bones. It felt sickening and Nick instinctively clutched his arm to his chest, cradling it. As the pain receded, Nick pulled his hand away, stretching his fingers experimentally. His wrist was sore, but nothing was broken. As he watched, the redness of the impact didn't fade, but remained, tender to the touch and swollen. _That's going to bruise,_ Nick noted. Rather than guilt, though, Nick felt....more clear-headed. Soon his name would be obscured by a deep, purple mark. It wouldn't be able to fucking taunt him then. Absent-mindedly, Nick gave his hand a couple shakes, and went to turn on the shower.  
  
 After washing shampoo from his hair and sleep from his eyes, Nick felt incrementally better. He pulled on yesterday's jeans _(Who's gonna know?)_ and a clean shirt with an excited looking anime girl on it. Glancing resignedly at his left wrist,  _(Fucking Griffin. Why Griffin?)_ Nick pulled on his bomber jacket and picked up his phone.  
  
**[2 new messages from: griffin mcelroy]**

 **griffin:** hey there birthday boy! did u get the name todd howard on ur right wrist too?

 **griffin:** pls say yes im too scared to fight him alone

 

Nick chuckled in spite of himself, flopping down onto his bed and swiping to reply.

 

 **nick:** ur on ur own buddy, i got 'The Blob'

As he waited for Griffin to respond, Nick opened up Safari on his phone, navigating to Google.  
  
[ **Search:** I have my own name on my right wrist| ]  
  
Nick tapped "Go" and his heart froze, because the innate, instinctive fear, the unconscious knowledge that had just an hour ago filled his mouth with bile was staring out at him from the screen of his phone. Amidst advertisements and news articles, forums came up; question forums, support forums...loss forums. 

 _'Are you guaranteed to kill yourself if you get your own name on your right wrist?'_   asked one Yahoo Answers user. One of the support forums contributed,  
_'My dad has his own name on his right wrist, and he's been really distant recently. Is there anything I can do or is this just Fate?'_ Nick scanned the page, desperately.  
_'How to cope when your soulmate is their own worst enemy'_ Fuck.  
_'preparing for loss'_   Fuck.  
_'The Right Wrist Death Sentence'_    
 "FUCK!" Nick yelled, finally, slamming his fist into his mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from welling up in them. Sure, there were some comments that offered hope on the forum posts. _"If soulmates aren't set in stone, I don't see why suicide would be inevitable."_ one poster offered.  
_"Maybe you're just really clumsy lol"_ another said in reply to a post titled _"I'm my own enemy, am i going to kill myself?"_  
  
Nick tossed his phone aside and pressed his palms to his eyelids, resisting the urge to scream. Nick wasn't a fool. He wasn't totally blindsided. He had problems, of course he did, who wouldn't after being abused in school for so long--but he'd always convinced himself, No, it was Fine, even when he was crying in his room at age fifteen wishing he would die, even when that thought followed him like a shadow into adulthood, and he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing it away. But there it was, on his fucking arm, all the abuse he hurled at his reflection, printed on his wrist where the now-faded scars used to be.  _It doesn't have to be true,_ Nick thought, not really believing himself, _everything is sensationalized, this doesn't have to be true, maybe things will get better, maybe I won't want--_ Nick's phone buzzed, ripping him from his thoughts.  
  
**[1 new message from griffin mcelroy]**

 **griffin:** dude ur gonna die  
**  
****[nick is typing...]**

 **nick:** yeah

 **nick:** i know


	2. the calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi in this AU all of Polygon works in the same building, RT/AH style, just for simplicity's sake
> 
> sorry for the short chapter but i'm writing this even tho it's my 21st birthday today,, hopefully next chapter will be longer!! I'm still more of a visual artist than a writer so I hope you'll forgive me if things are stilted or choppy or OOC,, writing is hard for me & I'm still learning

Nick stared, unseeing, out the window of the bus he rode to work. He was too lost in thought to pay attention to the city streets, the sights, to listen to the song humming through his earbuds. His brain just couldn't seem to figure out what to do, alternately flooding his bloodstream with adrenaline, causing panic, and numbing him out until he felt disaffected and absent. The most painful thing, really, was that Nick wasn't really surprised. Wasn't entirely caught unawares. He knew, or suspected, at least--but the confirmation from an invisible force outside of his control was devastating nonetheless. It was muscle memory that kept him from missing his stop, and when he reached to pull the 'Request Stop' wire, he felt sick satisfaction at the deep bruise that had bloomed across his wrist, obfuscating his name with angry shades of violet. He muttered a quick _"Thanks."_ to the bus driver as he got off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It was only a couple blocks from the bus stop to Polygon HQ, but it felt agonizing to Nick, as he cycled quietly back into anxiety. Finally his mind was tuning into the other name, the one on his left wrist, the name _Griffin McElroy._

Nick bit back the urge to scream in frustration, because _FUCK,_ it was just _too fucking much._ Maybe, like his potentially deadly self-loathing, Griffin's name wasn't so shocking a revelation. Nick hadn't expected it, of course, but as he mulled it over, he felt resignation settle over him. _Yeah, okay._ Maybe it made sense. Griffin was funny. _(Hilarious.)_ He was goofy and witty and yeah, maybe Nick had thought before that he was cute. _(His grin, his laugh, the brightness in his eyes, the kindness in his face the softness of his body--)_ Nick pressed his hands to his face and groaned, earning a couple strange looks from other passers-by on their way to work. _Fuck off,_ Nick thought angrily at them, his jaw clenching. Nicolas Robinson was well and truly _fucked_. Because Griffin McElroy, his coworker and closest friend, was his soulmate--but Nick felt--no, _knew_ , that he was **not** Griffin's. Nick dug the nails of his left hand into the bruise on his right wrist, gritted his teeth, and kept walking.  
  
It wasn't unheard of. It happened, sometimes--people would get their soulmate's name, but their soulmate wouldn't get theirs. Sometimes they stayed close friends, lived as platonic soulmates. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes it was fine. Sometimes it was a tragedy and a sad newspaper article and an obituary. Sure, Nick didn't know who Griffin's soulmate was--he'd never asked, never really cared, not consciously, but if it was him, surely he would have said something. _Wouldn't he?_ Nick hesitated before he pushed open the building's door, but steeled himself, determined to act as though everything was fine.  
  
"Hey, Simone. Hey, Tara." Nick heard himself say, the greeting escaping his mouth before he fully processed his intentions. The women looked up from where they chatted at the front desk, and both broke into smiles.  
  
"If it isn't the birthday boy!" Tara said, beaming, and threw her arms open to offer him a hug. Nick struggled to play it cool, giving her a stiff hug and letting go quickly. Tara gave him a questioning glance, but didn't press him. Nick felt eternally grateful. Simone stepped up to his side and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
"So, didja get Sonic on your left wrist?" she teased, playfully, and Nick managed to chuckle.  
  
"Shadow, actually. And Knuckles on my right."  
  
"Oooh, Shadow, huh? You like those edgy bad boys?" Simone wrinkled her nose at him and smiled as she released him, and Nick felt the tightness in his chest loosen, slightly. His coworkers--his friends--wouldn't press him. Of course not. They were good, understanding people. They knew it was a personal topic. Nick laughed, and it felt realer, to his relief.  
  
"You know me, Simone, always hanging around Hot Topic to find a hot date." Simone positively snorted with laughter.  
  
"God, I hope not, Nick, because if you're exclusively dating 13-year-olds that's gonna be an issue." Nick smiled good-naturedly, but jerked his head towards the stairs.  
  
"Sorry mom, but I've gotta head up. Articles to write and videos to edit--no rest for the birthday boy." he sighed dramatically at the end, drawing laughter from Simone and Tara.  
  
"Go on, then," Simone shooed him playfully. "Griffin's up there already, he'll want to wish you a happy birthday." At Griffin's name, Nick's stomach dropped and he struggled to maintain his composure.  
  
"Ha, y-yeah." Nick said, his voice tight, before turning on his heel and climbing the stairs as swiftly as he could.  
  
  
Nick once again had to brace himself before entering Polygon's main recording room. It was meant for streams and multi-person gaming videos, but Nick, Griffin, and Pat spent most of their days there, editing or writing or just goofing off when not recording. Pat, of course, wasn't in yet-- _Damn. Just my luck,_ Nick thought to himself. He was going to have to be alone with Griffin. Nick took a shaky breath and opened the door. Griffin was faced away from him, editing the audio files of the most recent Touch The Skyrim, it looked like, but he swung around in his swivel chair, beaming, as soon as Nick stepped into the room.  
  
"Nicolas Robinson!" He shouted jovially, leaping to his feet. "Happy birthday, dude!" Nick froze as Griffin wrapped him in a bear hug, and Griffin must have felt him go tense because the older man released him quickly, and stepped back, looking almost embarrassed.Nick found his eyes travelling to Griffin's left wrist without meaning to, but he was met only with the band of Griffin's watch. He started when he felt a gentle tug on his left sleeve.

"Nice jacket," Griffin said, "You hiding something?" and if Nick didn't know him better he wouldn't have heard anything different in Griffin's tone. But Nick did know him, and underneath the casual, joking demeanor, there was something else that Nick couldn't quite place. Something almost, but not quite, bitterness. Nick pulled his arm away and took a step back reflexively, not missing the flash of hurt and confusion in Griffin's eyes. Nick swallowed thickly. _You're not his soulmate,_ the cruel voice at the back of his mind hissed, _He's too good for someone like you._  
  
"Just cold." Nick said, tearing his eyes away from Griffin's face, praying that Griffin didn't notice the way his voice cracked slightly.

"Right." Griffin murmured.  
  
Silence fell as Nick shuffled past Griffin to his desk. He could feel the gaze of his coworker--his friend--his _soulmate_ \--boring into the back of his head.  
Nick shivered. He wasn't cold.


	3. the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's literally no update schedule or consistent chapter length for this it's just whenever i'm motivated enough to write sorry,,
> 
> also. No Rough Drafts, No Outlines, No Plans we write like Elementary Schoolers and Die

 The quiet that settled over the office now wasn't the easy silence that Nick was used to sharing with Griffin; the comfortable, gentle silence that both knew would dissolve like mist in sunlight if either spoke or smiled. No, this silence was heavy, pressing down on Nick like water on the Titanic, 6500 lbs of pressure per square inch and Nick couldn't breathe for the weight of it. The silence was loaded but tight with tension, the anticipation-fraught hush in the moment between the lightning strike and the thunderclap. Nick was still waiting for the roll of thunder when Pat arrived.  
  
"So, Nicolas," Pat deadpanned, his long legs carrying him over to Nick's desk in just two swift strides, "Did you get my name on your left or your right?"  
  
"Um." Nick's mouth was dry. "What?"

"Well I have 'Nick Robinson' on both my left and right wrists so I'm trying to determine whether I'm supposed to be smooching you and getting into a fistfight with that kid from Jurassic World or visa-versa."  
  
"Pat..." Nick paused, nonplussed. "You're younger than me." Pat broke into a toothy grin and flashed his bare wrists, seemingly very proud of his goof. He looked so pleased with himself that Nick laughed--it wasn't as full and hearty as his normal laughter, but it was a laugh and Nick could breathe again, just barely.

 

It was more of an Editing Day than a Recording Day, much to Nick's relief. He didn't think he'd be able to talk and joke and laugh with Griffin, not now, not today. Fuck, Nick didn't know if he'd ever be able to again. Nick bit his lip, trying desperately to ground himself, and cranked the volume of his headphones to drown out the thoughts churning in his mind. His head still felt heavy with distraction when he managed to grit his teeth and get to work editing the second episode of Let's Go To Hell. _I'm already there,_ he thought bitterly. Time passed in bursts, vast stretches flying by in what felt like minutes, then slowing to a crawl--but Nick would look away from the clock for a moment and an hour would be gone when he looked back. Nick was nursing a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation by the time Pat stood up at midday, carelessly throwing his headphones onto his desk.  
  
"I'm going to In-n-Out for lunch. You two wanna come with?" _Oh._ Nick suddenly felt the emptiness in his stomach, and the lightheadedness of hunger rushed to meet his dawning awareness, joining the throbbing pain at his temples. _I never ate breakfast,_ he remembered,  _and I must be dehydrated as fuck, I threw up..._

"Yeah," Nick said, standing up. "I haven't...eat...en..?" Nick's vision went black when he stood, his brain filled with static. He heard his voice trail off as his legs buckled and he fell to the floor.

 

"Nick? Nick, dude, are you okay?" _Griffin?  
_ Nick couldn't open his eyes, couldn't force himself to move. Voices floated through his half-conscious mind, echoing as though far off in the distance.

"Nick, oh man. Should I call an ambulance?" _Pat...  
_ Nick became aware of warmth near him, body heat, somewhere to his right. He still couldn't move.

"y...I don't know!" Griffin's voice was closer and sounded panicked. "I'm...What do I do, take a pulse?" _Fuck, no, wait, Griffin--_

"I don't know, sure, I'll---I'll get some water? To put on his face?" Nick heard Pat bustle out of the room and struggled to pull himself to consciousness, to move, but his head was leaden, his eyelids heavy.

"Fuck, sorry, fuck, Nick..." Griffin mumbled under his breath, and Nick felt fingers pushing the sleeve of his jacket up. Nick tried to pull his arm away and bark out a _No, stop,_ but all he managed was to twitch his fingers and make a strangled, whimpering sort of moan. Nick only managed to wrench his eyes open just as he heard Griffin's sharp intake of breath as the older man saw the massive bruise on Nick's wrist, read the name it failed to render illegible.

"Oh, _Nick_..." Nick winced at the pity in Griffin's voice, and Griffin finally noticed that he'd come to, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Griffin...Don't." Nick rasped, his voice resigned and dry and heavy. "Just don't." Nick felt his throat close and he forced himself to sit up, hissing through his teeth at the pain in his head. His eyes began to tear up and he looked away, over Griffin's shoulder, trying desperately to maintain composure despite the emotions and the pounding headache and the heaviness in his chest.

"Don't what?" Griffin's voice was low, quiet, downcast like his eyes had been that morning. "Nick..."

"I've got water!" Pat charged back into the room, dropping to his knees on Nick's left and holding out the water bottle. "I was going to pour it on your face, but you're awake, so you should drink it instead, maybe."

"Thanks. Cheers, Pat. I...I am pretty dehydrated." Nick avoided looking at Griffin, who sat silently as Nick chugged down the water in mere seconds. "I forgot to eat and drink, this morning, I guess." Nick said, absentmindedly crushing the now-empty plastic bottle in his hands. Patrick shook his head in disbelief.

"How the hell did you manage to forget both of those? And let me refill that." Pat snatched the bottle from Nick's grasp and once again swiftly strode out of the room before Nick finished his response to the initial question;

"I was just...distracted, I guess..." Nick trailed off as the door swung shut in the wake of Pat's nervous, distracted energy, and there was a moment of calm.

"What were you distracted by?" Griffin's voice had that tone again, the one that sounded like, but wasn't quite, bitterness, and Nick avoided eye contact by staring down into his own lap and fiddling his hands nervously. "By this?" Griffin suddenly reached out, took ahold of Nick's right wrist, turned it over to expose the bruised tattoo. 

"Griff-"

"Or by this?" Griffin grabbed Nick's left hand, whose head snapped up as he turned to face Griffin, eyes wide and scared like a caged and cornered animal. Griffin's voice had been sharp, his face stony. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed tight into a straight line. Nick tried to pull his hand away, but Griffin didn't let go.

"Griffin..." Nick's voice was so quiet, so soft, that had they had even another inch of distance between them, Nick was sure Griffin would not have heard it. "Please." Griffin looked directly into Nick's eyes.

"I can live with it if it's not me." Griffin murmured, his voice cracking slightly near the end of the sentence. He swallowed thickly. "But if it's me, if it's my name, and you don't want me to see it and now you won't talk to me because you don't want it to be true, or you're ashamed of it, or you wish it wasn't--" Griffin released Nick's arm as his voice took on a tone of desperation. "Please just tell me and we can try to fix it, sort it out, I won't force you into anything--"

Griffin slipped the watch off his left wrist to reveal the name printed there, the name Nick had read off his own right arm just that morning. _Nicolas Robinson._ Nick reached out in wonderment, lightly brushing his fingertips over the name, this iteration of it unbruised, unhated.

"It's you," Nick breathed, his voice heavy with awe. "It's you."  
  
The thunder rolled.


	4. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowza this took way too long sorry aaaaa  
> i hope its ok 
> 
> im still, and always will be, more of a visual artist than a literary one and this fic is gonna reflect that in quality so. sorry abt that. im Struggling™

There was silence. Or, rather, there _would_ have been silence if Nick's heart hadn't been pounding; a hail of machine gun fire in his chest, reverberating off of his ribcage and knocking the breath from his lungs.  Reluctantly, he dropped his fingers from where they brushed against his own name, printed cleanly on the underside of Griffin's wrist. Nick tried to make his lips move, but he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to say, and so dropped his gaze. As Nick withdrew his hand, Griffin reached further with his own to grab Nick's wrist.  
  
"Nick...?" Griffin's voice had an edge of uncertainty to it, caught somewhere between hope and concern, and Nick's eyes snapped up to meet those of his soulmate.

"S....sorry." Nick stuttered, his voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat. "I just. I...I was so sure you'd...you'd have gotten someone..." _Better,_ his mind filled in. "...someone else." Nick felt his chest tighten when he saw Griffin's face fall. "No, Griff, don't--don't think that I don't want-please, _god-_ you're just so, so--out of my league, like, you're--you're _you_ and I'm just some, just some fucking guy--" Nick stumbled over his words in desperation. Griffin's eyes brightened with understanding, but he still frowned, and Nick didn't know why or what to do to fix it. His whirling thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Griffin's hand gently cupping his cheek, his fingertips soft and gentle on Nick's jawline.

"Nick..." Griffin murmured, "you really don't have any idea how fucking spectacular you are, do you?"

"I..." Nick struggled to find words, distracted by how close Griffin's face was, by how gentle and warm his hand felt on Nick's cheek, how his cheeks were flushed and his lips were ever-so-slightly parted. "I don't know." Nick sighed, leaning into Griffin's touch.

"I do." Griffin said. Griffin closed the gap between them and Nick felt his heart skip a beat because Griffin, _Griffin Fucking McElroy,_ was kissing him. Nick brought his hand up, curling his fingers into the fabric of Griffin's shirt as he kissed back. He felt Griffin's lips curl into a smile against his mouth and--

"Oh! Yup! Okay, yeah. Alright." Nick and Griffin all but jumped apart at the sound of Pat's voice from the doorway. Pat, to his credit, looked neither shocked nor perturbed, and even as Nick felt his face flush scarlet, Pat held out the now-refilled water bottle to him as though nothing had happened.

"Sur...suh. Sorry. Yeah. Thanks, Pat." Nick just could not get ahold of his words today, it seemed. Every other sentence he was moo-mars-nupiter'ing, or at least he felt like it. Nick found himself chugging the water again, this time to try and quell the heat building in his cheeks. 

"Don't mention it. I was worried about you, ya know. But, uh, looks like Griffin's got this under control so I'll go...get that lunch and let you two be." Pat punctuated his sentence with such an exaggerated, goofy wink that Nick couldn't even keep feeling embarrassed; he and Griffin both cracked up, and Pat beamed before flashing them finger guns and walking back out the office door. As the door clicked shut, Griffin turned back to Nick, his face lightly flushed.

"Get lunch with me?" he asked, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck nervously, "Or dinner? Or both? Is that desperate? Or we could go out to a bar tonight for, like, birthday drinks with everyone else--" Nick cut him off with a quick, gentle kiss.

"Lunch is good," Nick laughed, pulling back, "I'm fucking starving. And I'll definitely take you up on birthday drinks."

Griffin beamed.

* * *

 "It's not too far a walk," Griffin said, holding the front door of Polygon's office building open for Nick, "and it's really good, along 24th, near the waterfront." Nick smiled and blinked fondly at Griffin.

"Sounds great, Griff. Thanks."

"It's not super fancy," Griffin fretted, "I figure no one would mind too much if we took a little longer for lunch, but I didn't--" Nick couldn't help but laugh.

"Griff, I'm wearing day-old jeans and a weeb-ass shirt. If it's fancier than an Olive Garden, I will die of embarrassment." Griffin snorted at that, but looked slightly apologetic.

"It uh, it may be _slightly_   fancier than an Olive Garden. It is casual attire, though!"

"Fucking hell, it better be." It was too loud to converse as the pair made their way under the Hwy 280 overpass, and Griffin took the opportunity to reach over and grab Nick's hand, squeezing it gently as they walked. Nick blushed and couldn't prevent the shy smile that tugged at his lips. The noise of traffic died behind them as they took the turn onto Minnesota St, and Griffin caught Nick's gaze, his own eyes twinkling at the lingering pink of Nick's cheeks.

"You're so fucking cute." Griffin said, his voice the intonation of a poolside summer; all warmth and calm and gaiety.

"Sh. Shut up." Nick mumbled, looking at the ground to hide his giddy smile and flushing face. Griffin laughed. Nick was enraptured by Griffin, reveling in the warmth of the fingers intertwined with his own. He barely noticed when they made the turn onto 24th.

"We're here." Griffin said, and Nick looked up.

"Gr **iffin _McElroy_** , you are **not** taking me out to lunch at fucking  _Alta!"_ Nick exclaimed, turning to look at the older man, who offered him a toothy grin. "Griff, this is _expensive_ , I--"

"I'm taking you out."

"Ex _actly_! Griff, no, I'm gonna pay for-"

"You can leave the tip," Griffin cut Nick off, pressing a swift kiss to his mouth before he could object again. "now come on, you need to eat."

-

"You motherfucker," Nick mumbled once they were seated, as he opened the menu.

 _' **ALTA IS A NO TIP RESTAURANT.** We Provide All Our Team Members A Fair And Equitable Wage. | A 4% healthy sf charge will be added to all checks,'_   the neat black font at the bottom of each page informed him. Griffin hummed an amused noise and smiled innocently at Nick, who tried and failed to look angry. He ended up getting a smoked black cod salad _("Fuckin' Nick the #healthyeating #summerready fitness blogger," Griffin teased.)_ Griffin got a fried chicken sandwich  _("Griffin, that shit is a **nineteen dollar** McChicken!" Nick had hissed under his breath.)_  and they shared a cocktail called Summer Of Love that Griffin had jovially ordered while Nick hid his crimson-flushed face in his hands. _(I'm really worried about your temperature regulation," Griffin had remarked as the waitress walked away, "and I'm not even making a 'because you're so hot' joke--you are, by the way, it's just that you're such a blush-y boy.")_ It took Griffin a couple minutes of alternately coaxing and laughing to get Nick to lift his head from where he hid it, slumped over the tabletop, in his arms. _("Nick, if you don't lift up your head, I'm gonna call over our waitress and show her your cheeto champ video" finally did the trick.)_

Nick lunged for the bill when it came, but Griffin kicked him in the shin under the table, innocently smiling and politely handing it and his card back to the bemused waitress as Nick swore under his breath, eyes watering. Nick's slight limp was long gone by the time they got back to Polygon's HQ, and Nick was pleased to have milked the (non)-injury for several dozen fluttering, apologetic kisses. 

"Griff, you know you really didn't need to go balls-to-the-wall on our first lunch date," Nick said, smilingly, as the pair climbed the stairs to their office. "Like, we have _forever_. We have _infinity_ possible dinner-dates. It's not like I'm gonna just randomly drop dead--" Nick froze in his tracks as his mouth went dry, his tongue suddenly heavy. He swallowed hard, subconsciously running his fingers over the bruised tattoo on his right wrist, feeling his pulse beginning to race.

"Nick?" Griffin's voice snapped him out of his daze. He looked up to where Griffin stood, looking confused, having climbed only a few stairs more before realizing Nick had fallen behind. "You alright?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply, to give a comforting _Yeah, don't worry,_ but he couldn't force the sound from his chest. Shame and guilt and foreboding coiled around Nick's lungs like adders; crushing, constricting, choking. Breathless and paralyzed, Nick stared wordlessly up at Griffin and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.


End file.
